About Sunflower Punk

Feminism, Fat and Hair. Tumblr. These were the ingredients chosen to create the perfect little Social Justice Warrior. But Professor Misandry "accidentally" added an extra ingredient to the concoction CHEMICAL male tears.
And thus Sunflower Punk of Social Justice was born!
Using her ultra super powers she dedicates her life to fighting oppression and the forces of patriarchy!
Sort of.
Puerto Rican, non-binary queer, atheist, intersectional feminist, artist and mom to the best kid in the world. I write mostly about my experiences with homelessness, feminism and being a person of color raising a girl child.

Speaking Ill of the Dead

Growing up I was told it was rude to speak ill of the dead. I was told no matter how horrible the person was in life, we should respect them in death. I never questioned this until one of my grandma’s sisters died.

I got the news about my aunt and I felt like dancing. I thought I was being rude but then I thought, this aunt made my life miserable. Any chance she got, she reminded me how ugly and fat I was. She would tell me I would end up “jamona” (a spinster) because of how unattractive I was. I was 12. My grandma would tell her sister about my “bad behavior” and this aunt would say that what i needed was “un buen puño a la cara” (a good punch to the face). I was 7. She would make my school uniforms and I dreaded being measured. She always had something to say. “Oh, you’re so fat. You’re fatter than I am. It’s a miracle you fit through the door.”

She died when I was in my teens. I remember calling my grandma to offer my condolences. But I lied them. When I went to Puerto Rico, I visited my grandpa’s and another aunt’s grave. I left flowers for both of them. I didn’t ask to see that one aunt’s grave and grandma didn’t push me. I told my mother I was happy tia was dead. I would never say this to my grandmother. Not out of respect for that dead aunt, but for respect to grandma. That aunt never showed any respect to me, so I don’t see why I should respect her because she finally dropped dead.

I firmly believe it is OK and even cathartic to be happy someone died. If that person made your life miserable? Pop open a bottle. That person abused you? Merengue on that grave all you want.

My tia didn’t have any influence over legislation. Her opinions and ideas didn’t have the power to sway a population. Scalia on the other had opinions which hurt a lot of marginalized people. I will not judge anyone who is glad he’s gone. I’m sure no one is going to his family and saying they’re happy he’s dead, and I would never advocate that. But I don’t care for the for the posts I’ve seen chastising the people who are happy he’s dead.

“No hables mal de los muertos, que no pueden responder”. Don’t speak ill of the dead because they can’t defend themselves. Well, when she was alive I tried defending myself from her verbal abuse and I was told I was disrespectful.

Death doesn’t mean that person’s bad deeds are forgotten. Death doesn’t magically erase the pain that person caused. But death does guarantee that I’ll never have to listen to her opinions ever again.

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About the author

Feminism, Fat and Hair. Tumblr. These were the ingredients chosen to create the perfect little Social Justice Warrior. But Professor Misandry "accidentally" added an extra ingredient to the concoction CHEMICAL male tears.
And thus Sunflower Punk of Social Justice was born!
Using her ultra super powers she dedicates her life to fighting oppression and the forces of patriarchy!
Sort of.
Puerto Rican, non-binary queer, atheist, intersectional feminist, artist and mom to the best kid in the world. I write mostly about my experiences with homelessness, feminism and being a person of color raising a girl child.

2 thoughts on “Speaking Ill of the Dead”

[…] Once I became taller than her, around my 8th birthday, everybody would joke about how much bigger I was than Tia. I was a bit self conscious about my height. Mami, grandma and all of the other women in my family were short. Along I come and I’m this palm tree. Tia never made me feel bad it, unlike my grandmother’s other sister. […]